[Book 2] Chapter 1
The Nomadic People / Life on the Steppe
《Baleon’s Log》
Morning on the Steppe — Outer Steppe.
[Fael] Preparing to meet a nomadic family. → A brief discussion with me.
[Serio] After finishing breakfast with Roro, tending to the Elba. → No issues with the Elba.
[Maya] Washing his face at a nearby stream. → Found a pretty stone and was delighted. Shows no sign of fatigue from the journey.
The morning wind on the steppe was still cold, with a thin mist hanging low.
Once the sun rose higher, the mist would soon clear. By afternoon, we were to meet a nomadic family.
May today’s road be a safe one.
The wind that runs across the steppe changes its color and scent with each season.
In spring, the meltwater soaks the earth, and the damp wind carries the fragrance of sprouting grass.
In summer, the sun-heated wind dries the fields pale, leaving deep green only around streams and distant lakes.
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In autumn, dry grass forms golden waves, and the sweet scent of withering stalks drifts with the wind, telling of the coming season.
In winter, the whole steppe lies sealed in silver-white. Only the cutting sound of the frozen wind remains, as all things wait quietly for the thaw.
The nomads who live upon this land have always read the wind—its touch and its scent—moving in search of better pasture.
In summer, they leave the dry plains for “summer camps” in cooler highlands or by lakeshores.
In winter, they gather at “winter camps” in valleys where grass remains, or in hollows sheltered from the cold wind.
To them, the wind of the steppe is both a messenger of the seasons and a guide that leads them to their next pasture.
Now, it was autumn.
Though the summer heat had eased, for Maya—raised in the mountain village—it still felt uncomfortably hot.
After passing through the mountains and crossing the plains, Fael’s company had entered the steppe to meet with the nomads.
Here, the higher ground was somewhat cooler than the plains, and the sense of autumn deepened.
The mountain village was likely already buried in deep snow, but on the steppe, winter still seemed a little way off.
That day, around noon, the group met a nomadic herdsman whom Fael trusted.
He looked about the same age as Fael—perhaps in his late fifties.
Though many families lived scattered across the steppe, he alone was waiting at the meeting place.
His name was Xaelo.
He was a man who knew this Steppe through and through.
He wore a white linen tunic, bound firmly with a brown leather belt, and over it an ivory-colored cloak of Elba felt.
His well-worn leather boots told of a long life lived on the steppe.
Beside him stood a slender, light-gray Elba.
Compared to the chestnut-colored Elba that had carried Maya on this journey, it was smaller and finer in build.
When Xaelo noticed Maya’s curious gaze, he let out a hearty laugh.
“Ha-ha-ha! Is it so strange to you?”
His booming laugh made Maya smile back in spite of himself.
“This one is a Swift Elba. It’s not for hauling loads—running like the wind is what it does best.”
Xaelo patted the Elba’s neck with a light tap.
“It’s been a while, Xaelo.”
Fael dismounted from his Elba and stepped forward, offering his hand.
“Fael. You’ve come at last.”
Xaelo grasped his hand firmly.
After exchanging a few words, Xaelo said he would lead them to his family.
He mounted his Swift Elba in a swift motion and gave a simple gesture for the others to follow.
The party rode on behind Xaelo, along the grassland path where the first winds of autumn had begun to stir.
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AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.
